**Chapter 1: The Lonely Wait**

I sat on the sofa, my ears plugged with earplugs to block out the overwhelming sounds of the city outside, but even they couldn't filter out the deafening silence within our home. My hypersensitive eyes, or rather, the empty sockets where my eyes used to be, felt like two gaping holes, a constant reminder of my blindness. I had grown accustomed to the darkness, but it didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear. As I sat there, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and nervousness, my heart racing with anticipation. I loved it when Hange came home late at night; it was a rare opportunity for us to spend time together, even if it was just for a little while. The sound of the door opening and closing was like music to my ears, and I immediately perked up, my head turning in Hange's direction. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with exhaustion. "I'm back... today was pretty busy." I smiled, trying to convey my happiness, and he asked, "You were waiting for me?" I nodded, my hands fidgeting in my lap. I always waited for him, every day, every night, hoping that this time would be different, that this time he would have more time for me. Hange looked at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, I...I can't cuddle right now.. I'm too tired and all I want to do is sleep.." His words were like a punch to the gut, and I felt my heart sink. I knew he had to get up early, but that didn't make it any easier. I had been waiting for him all day, and now he was pushing me away. Tears began to stream down my face, and I felt my body shake with sobs. Hange's expression changed from exhaustion to regret, and he took a step closer to me. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said, but it was too late. My separation anxiety was already spiking, and I felt myself regressing, my mind going back to a time when I was a scared, lost child. The sounds around me became louder, more overwhelming, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of sensory input. My body started to ache, and I felt a wave of heat wash over me. I was getting sick, and my fever was rising. Hange's voice was distant, muffled, and I couldn't make out what he was saying. All I knew was that I was alone, and I was scared. As I sat there, feeling helpless and overwhelmed, Hange's words kept echoing in my mind: "I'm too tired...I'm too tired..." It was like he was saying, "I'm too tired of you," and that thought was too much to bear. I whimpered, my body shaking with fear, and Hange's face appeared in front of me, his eyes filled with concern. "Oh, baby," he said, his voice softening. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I'll try to do better, I promise." But it was too late. I had already retreated into my own little world, a world of fear and anxiety, where I was a lost, abandoned child, and Hange was a distant, unreachable figure.